


The Best Rooms are Always in the Rear

by PurpleWyrm



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:25:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9037289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleWyrm/pseuds/PurpleWyrm
Summary: A modern Alternative Universe story. A modern Superhero Alternative Universe story. Although exactly how 'Super' the powers are is open to debate...(Contains some mild use of language)





	

Mikkel Madsen looked at the five... individuals... seated around the ornately carved and folder strewn wooden table and then at the pile of poorly organised documents sitting in front of him.

He looked back at the people, then down again at the papers.

Neither filled him with confidence.

He decided that perhaps assessing the applicants one by one might prove more promising.

To his immediate left sat a young woman with short silvery hair. She was glancing around erratically while nervously capping and uncapping a pen and nibbling at her cheek. She noticed Mikkel eyeing her, momentarily making eye contact then flinching and looking hurriedly away.

Not encouraging.

Next to her a stick-thin figure lay slumped across the table deeply unconscious - or perhaps dead. Mikkel's attempt to determine any further information was stymied by the figure being enveloped in a large grey hoodie, although a whisp of silvery hair - similar to that of the nervous girl - did manage to poke out of its confines.

Writing this off, Mikkel turned his attention to his right where a tall woman with flaming red hair was destroying hours of fine woodwork by playing finger roulette with a large hunting knife that most definitely should have been confiscated before she was let in. The blade flicked back and forth at surprising - even startling - speed and although she seemed to be doing well today, numerous scars across her hands suggested it was only at the cost of much trial and error. Mostly error.

Beyond her sat a slightly chubby young man who was ignoring everyone while preening in a hand-held mirror. As Mikkel watched, he pulled a comb out of his pocket and began running it through his luxurious blonde locks while humming an inane top forty pop song Mikkel recognised as one he absolutely hated.

Finally at the far end of the table was a skinny young man with a ridiculously long red braid. He looked almost as nervous as the young woman and was hugging the braid to himself, appearing to be trying very hard to will himself into invisibility.

Such was the clay his superiors had provided for him to mould into an effective team. He could see his dismissal papers already, but decided he might as well get on with it.

He cleared his throat...

“I call this first meeting of the Justice League of Scandinavia, Mora Chapter, to order!”

The results were not encouraging. The young man with the braid jumped as if he'd been slapped. The red-headed woman grunted in annoyance as her knife caught the edge of a finger. The pretty boy sniggered and muttered something about potatoes, and the supine figure entirely failed to stir. Only the silver haired girl seemed interested, putting down her pen and gazing at him with polite incomprehension.

Damn this job to hell. Couldn't the Västerström Foundation have paid for some kind of translator?

He tried again.

“I” he began, loudly and clearly, pointing at himself.

“Call this meeting”he gestured around at the group.

“Of the Justice League of Scandinavia” he pointed at the now somewhat sliced up JLS logo carved into the table.

“Mora Chapter” he pointed again, this time at the Dala horse symbol beneath it.

“To order!” he whacked the table.

The comatose figure - apparently not dead after all - rolled over, and opened one eye. He – it was a he - fixed it on Mikkel, stared for a second, then shut it again with a grunt.

“ _For helvede!_ ” he muttered under his breath.

There was a sudden loud SNAP! - like that of a giant mousetrap - which set the inside of Mikkel's head ringing like a gong. The redhead leapt to her feet and started jumping around wildly, swinging her knife and shouting war cries. The pretty boy let out a yelp and slammed his hands over his ears, and the braided one fell backwards out of his chair with a squawk.

The silver haired girl lowered her hands.

“Um... sorry” she ventured. “Can you understand me...?”

“ _Understand_ you? What the _hell_ was that!?” shrieked the redhead, now standing in a defensive pose with her knife held at the ready.

“I can translate languages” the small woman explained nervously. “It's one of my powers. It just... does that when I use it... Sorry!”

“ _Well_ then” commented the woman carefully sitting down. “That would have been the kind of thing that's good to know about _beforehand_ ”. She glared at Mikkel as if it was all his fault.

He cleared his throat again. “Well, I take it you can now all understand me? In that case...” he glanced down the length of the room. “Are you quite all right?”

The braided one emerged sheepishly from under the table and clambered back onto his seat “Yes, just... give me a minute... sorry!”

There was a _twang_ as the redhead casually jammed her knife into the table. A particularly empathic woodworker in Borlänge broke down in tears for no reason he could adequately explain. “So then boss man” she asked, turning to Mikkel “What are we here for?”

“Did you not read your briefing package?” Mikkel asked

“Ha!” she laughed “As if I _read!_ ” Then - as if she'd scored some kind of point - she seemed to lose interest and turned to gaze absently at the mass of scaffolding visible outside the window.

“We are here to establish the Justice League of Scandinavia, Mora Chapter!” growled Mikkel “Did everyone _else_ at least read their briefing packages?”

There were non-committal nods and mutters up and down the table. He sighed.

“Well in that case... If any of you _had_ read the briefings you would know that the Västerström Foundation has generously provided funding to establish a branch of the Justice League here in Mora. You have been selected because your special abilities have been judged suitable to help defend Mora against supernormal and supernatural threats.” He glanced up and down the table again. “Apparently”.

Everyone nodded appreciatively. “Well of course...” muttered the pretty boy.

Mikkel closed his eyes for a few seconds then re-opened them.

Everyone was still there.

He sighed.

“I suppose we should get on with the introductions.” He shuffled through the mass of papers. “Which one of you is... Tuuri?”

“Oh! That's me!” squeaked the silver haired girl waving her hand. The braided one flinched.

“Excellent. And your code name is...” he peered at the paper “...I note that there is no code name on your profile?”

Tuuri looked startled “I.. I forgot I had to choose one! Is that a problem? Can I still join? I mean you could call me.. um... the.. uh...”

Mikkel waved his hand. “Tuuri will suffice for the time being.” He consulted the document. “In addition to your translation talent you have a sonic ability?”

“Oh yes!” she perked up “Let me show you! _EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!_ ”

The table started to vibrate. The walls began to shake. Everyone - with the exception of the sleeper who merely muttered something and shifted position - clamped their hand over their ears and dived for cover as small chunks of plaster started to fall from the ceiling...

“Enough! ENOUGH!” yelled Mikkel. The deafening shriek faded away. “Thank you. I'm sure that will prove to be useful... somehow.”

The group gingerly resumed their seats - the redhead muttering darkly under her breath about “mutant freaks” and the pretty boy frantically pawing at his hair which had taken a direct hit from a clump of plaster dust.

Mikkel flipped to the next page.

“And I assume that... this... is your brother Onni, the Forest Owl?” He indicated the slumbering form.

“Oh! No! He couldn't come” replied Tuuri brushing some plaster dust off the sleeper.

“Why not?”

“He doesn't like to travel.”

Mikkel pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“I see. So who is this then?”

“This is my cousin Lalli, The Silver Lynx!”

Mikkel picked up a pen. “What are his powers?”

“Oh! He's really stealthy and he can see in the dark and can climb walls and he can talk to cats and he can generate lynx shaped energy blasts and...”

“Is there a reason he's asleep?”

“He.. ah... he sleeps a lot.”

“Well can you please wake him up? I need to speak with him if he is to be a member of the team.”

“Well, I can, but he won't understand you. He only speaks Finnish.”

“But your translation ability...”

“It doesn't work on Finnish. I don't know why...”

Mikkel sighed. He was worried that it might become a habit.

“Just wake him up please?”

Turri prodded the sleeping Lalli and muttered untranslatable gibberish at him. He slowly pulled himself upwards until he sat more or less upright, blinking slowly at Mikkel like some kind of resentment filled deep sea fish.

“Can you ask him to demonstrate his powers?”

Tuuri exchanged a few muffled words with her cousin.

“He.. uh.. doesn't feel like it right now. But they're really good! I promise!”

Lalli slumped back onto the table and immediately went back to sleep.

“I see.” Mikkel shuffled through the papers again “Moving on. Sigrun Eide, AKA Captain...”

“Captain _Awesome!_ ” shouted the redhead, jumping out of her seat and striking a heroic pose.

“Indeed... And your abilities are...”

“I punch stuff! Until it can't be punched any more! And then I punch it some more!”

“All right...”

“And then I stab it!” She demonstrated stabbing and gutting an imaginary foe, complete with sound effects. The braided one turned slightly pale.

“Very good...”

“And then I shoot it!”

“I see...”

“And if it's still complaining I punch it again!”

“I think we have the idea. Please sit down madam!”

“Please sit down _Captain Awesome!_ ” Captain Awesome corrected, then dropped back into her seat. She started carving her name into the table while humming some kind of military march. The woodworker in Borlänge collapsed, bawling, onto the floor, much to the discomfort of everyone else in the supermarket.

With some effort Mikkel ignored this latest provocation and turned to the pretty boy.

“And you must be Emil...”

“ _HAIR LORD!_ ”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Hair Lord! I'm Hair Lord. That's my codename.”

“OK....”

“Hair Lord!”

Mikkel shuffled through the papers for the correct profile. Much to his surprise it did actually read “Hair Lord”. He scanned down the page.

“And this is because of your... hair based superpowers?”

“Yes! I can do _this!_ ”

A look of concentration clouded Hair Lord's face. Small points of light flickered to life around his hair, darting and swirling around and between his flowing locks. After about ten seconds he exhaled heavily and slumped back into his seat, the sparkles dissipating.

“That's _it?_ ”

“It's a perfectly respectable power!” Hair Lord puffed.

“I have no doubt... but exactly how will it help us fight super villains?”

“Well... Uncle Torbjörn also gave me a flamethrower!”

Mikkel looked further down the profile.

“Ah. Emil _Västerström_.”

“That's me! Hair Lord!”

“I see.”

“Hair Lord! Don't forget it!”

“I cannot imagine how I possibly could.” Mikkel flicked through the notes again. “I suppose that makes you Reynir Árnason?”

The braided one jumped slightly and then nodded.

“There's no need to be nervous.” Mikkel glanced at the others “...mostly. Hmmm, the powers section of your profile is blank for some reason...”

“Well...” began Reynir “That's because I haven't _actually_ manifested any powers yet. But I'm sure I will really soon!”

Mikkel starred at him quizzically.

“And you are sure of this why?”

“Well, my brothers and sisters all have, and Guðrún and Bjarni didn't get their powers until they turned twenty-five...”

Tuuri let out a sudden squeal.

“Reynir _Árnason?_ From _Egilsstaðir?_ ”

Reynir looked down and shuffled his feet.

“Yes” he admitted sheepishly.

“You're one of the Jötnar! _EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!_ ” chunks of plaster again started raining from the ceiling. Hair Lord seized a folder and held it open above his head while grimacing.

“ _STOP THAT!_ ” snapped Mikkel. He turned back to Reynir.

“Well, you have an excellent pedigree at least. I am sure your abilities will manifest soon.”

“Yes! I'm sure!” agreed Reynir as Mikkel turned back to his papers. “...of course my brothers and sisters _were_ all adopted...” he muttered to himself.

“So” resumed Mikkel “We have established why we are here and who we all are. Before we inspect our headquarters, are there any questions?”

“Me!” shouted Captain Awesome leaping up and waving her hand “Me! I have a question! Pick me!”

“Yes?” acknowledged Mikkel with some reluctance.

“Do our headquarters have a pool?”

“A _pool?_ ”

“Yeah! A pool! The Malmö Justice Tower has a pool! We should have one too! We can hardly be the most best Justice League in Scandinavia if Malmö has a pool and we don't!”

“...I suppose that's one way of looking...”

“And we should have a gym! And a firing range! And a pizza oven!”

“And a personal stylist!” suggested Hair Lord.

“The Västerström Foundation has been very generous!” Mikkel interjected “But I don't believe their budget quite extends to a pool. Or... those other things.”

“Well damn it!” Captain Awesome plonked down on her seat and petulantly folded her arms. “We all might as well go and join the Öresund Chapter instead!”

“Really.” commented Mikkel. “And you'd all be happy to work under Admiral Shout?”

There was a thoughtful, horrified pause.

“I thought as such. Now if there are no more questions...”

“Why are we based in Mora?” interjected Hair Lord “What's wrong with Stockholm?”

Mikkel groaned internally.

“Mora stands on the edge of an ancient meteorite crater that is regarded as a prime target for super villains seeking...”

“Well _surely_ we could monitor it from Stockholm. The restaurant culture there is _so_ much better. You can't even get decent spaghetti here!”

“Well I _suppose_ if you _want_ spaghetti you'll just have to...”

“Why is it shaped like a horse?” interrupted Captain Awesome.

“...have it custom delivered from... what?” Mikkel turned to the Captain in bafflement.

“Our headquarters! It's shaped like a horse!” She pointed out the window. Everyone followed her gaze through the glass to the mass of scaffolding. It indeed had a distinctly equine shape to it.

“Well, the Dala Horse is our chapter symbol...” reasoned Mikkel “I suppose the Västerström Foundation wanted to reflect that in the architecture.”

“But they couldn't stretch to a pool?”

“I don't think your leisure time was one of their priorities!”

“Well their priorities should have included choosing a decent symbol instead of a dinky wooden horse! Can't we change it to something more heroic?”

“Such as?”

“A fist punching someone in the _face!_ ”

"WE ARE KEEPING THE HORSE!”

“ _I bet your rooms are in the ass..._ ”

“WHAT WAS THAT?”

“Nothing.”

Mikkel slapped his hand on the table.

“We are going to inspect our very fine, horse shaped, pool and personal-shopper free headquarters right now! No more questions!”

“Um...” piped up Tuuri nervously. “I have one more question”.

“WHAT?”

“Well... _we've_ all gone though our powers and code names, but, you haven't...”

“Yeah!” agreed Captain Awesome. “What gives?”

Mikkel stood up.

“I” he announced dramatically “Am the Prankster!”

“The _Prankster?_ ” laughed Captain Awesome incredulously. “You play _pranks?_ What kind of superpower is that?”

Mikkel raised an eyebrow.

Hair Lord's flowing locks burst into flame. Startled, Captain Awesome jumped out of her chair, only to tumble to the ground with her bootlaces tied together. As Hair Lord ran around the room shrieking, a bucket of whitewash materialised out of thin air above the Silver Lynx and upended itself. Tuuri jumped out of her seat to assist her rudely awakened and spluttering cousin, only to slip on a banana peel and fall face first onto the floor. A small white and orange kitten flew out of nowhere and hit Reynir directly in the face, knocking him and his chair backwards onto the ground. Hair Lord tripped over him and collided head first into the wall.

His hair sputtered out.

A chorus of groans (and a couple of meows) echoed weakly around the room.

Mikkel surveyed the chaos.

“Any more questions?”

“ _...my hair..._ ”

“ _Hell_ no!”

“Mrrrr”

“...No.”

“Mrumph”

“Good. Shall we examine our headquarters now?”

“ _...my poor hair!_ ”

“Yes Boss”

“ _Kyllä_ ”

“Yes”

“ _Miu_ ”

The Prankster smiled.

“Excellent”

**Author's Note:**

> I promised a fic for Christmas, and here it is!
> 
> Did you know Mora really is on the edge of an ancient meteorite crater? You see, I _teach_ you things in my stories!


End file.
